Bird in a Snare

by N. L. Holmes

  Aziru exchanged a brief stare with the man at his side and said bluntly, “A few days. That’s the limit. Give me an answer, Hani, or I besiege the city and take it under my own conditions.” He rose to his feet along with his two companions, and Hani likewise stood up.

  He was painfully aware of the sheets of sweat running down his sides and the linen of his shirt sticking to his back. He said with as much dignity as he could muster, “I’ll have an answer for you. In a few days.”

  CHAPTER 9

  As soon as Hani returned to Simurru, he dictated a letter for Yanakh-amu: The Hittites are in Nuhasshe or will be soon. Would we be willing to give Simurru peacefully to Aziru to retain his goodwill and to stop him from taking the city by force and going over to Kheta with it? Otherwise, please come with reinforcements so we can keep Aziru out. The departing commissioner, Hotep, took most of the garrison with him.

  It occurred to him that Rib-addi was too loyal for his own good. Had he threatened to sell out, the king of Kebni might have received more of what he asked for. But before Yanakh-amu had time to answer, Hani received a reply to his earlier letter to Lord Ptah-mes. It was vague and troubling. Apparently, this was not a moment to expect a clear description of the king’s policy in the north. According to Ptah-mes—and Hani could see, in his mind’s eye, the distraught and exhausted face of his superior at their last meeting—Nefer-khepru-ra was occupied with the construction of his new capital and the elaboration of a new theology of the Aten. Of Kharu, he wanted only that it look to its own safety for now.

  “Then what am I doing here?” Hani cried in exasperation after he had read the letter.

  Maya looked up, his brow crinkled. “Bad news, my lord?”

  “No news at all, Maya. Which may be even worse. They send me up here with no idea of what policy to pursue and no power to negotiate.” Hani’s face was hot with anger and a disquieting sense of having been abandoned. “Of course, Ptah-mes didn’t know about the Hittites going after Nuhasshe. Perhaps everything has changed since this letter was sent. We’ll know more when Yanakh-amu comes.” Or rather, if Yanakh-amu comes. Hani had been expecting the commissioner since well before his letter went out. Wasn’t the promise of more troops part of his original mandate?

  “Well, you’re keeping Rib-addi happy. That was one thing you were supposed to do,” Maya said in a half-hearted attempt at consolation.

  Hani forced a smile, stuffing down his frustration. “He won’t be happy if he’s left to fend for himself yet again. Good thing he doesn’t know the Hittites are closing in on him.”

  The very next day, Yanakh-amu’s reply arrived from Urusalim: Don’t give in to Aziru. Troops are en route. Tell Rib-addi to retreat to Kebni and direct his defense of the northern border from there—because Ullaza has fallen to the hapiru under Aziru’s brother.

  “Montu defend us!” cried Hani. “Listen to this, Maya. Aziru’s brother has taken Ullaza.” He wondered if the silent man in Aziru’s tent the other day had been that brother. Khai—someone had once told him the name.

  Maya’s jaw dropped, and the color fled from his face. “But that’s to the south, between us and Kebni. W-We’re cut off!”

  “What hope have our troops of even arriving at Simurru now that it’s isolated? They’ll have to reduce Ullaza first.” Hani paced grimly back and forth in the little room he occupied in the governor’s palace.

  Maya, who sat on the floor, surrounded by his writing tools, looked up at him in horror. “Dear gods, will they even let us go back to Kebni? Are we trapped here?”

  Hani had no answer for him. He gave a little lift of the shoulders meant to indicate ignorance and murmured, “What happened to the garrison in Ullaza, I wonder? Or did Hotep take them back with him? If so, the whole north of Kharu is unguarded. No wonder Aziru has decided to make his move.”

  So many questions to which I have no answers, he thought hopelessly. Not even men of Yanakh-amu’s and Ptah-mes’s rank have answers. We seem to be working in a blinding sandstorm of ignorance.

  Maya was sitting disconsolately, his legs crossed, in the midst of the unfolded papyri from the courier bag. Suddenly, he reached over and grabbed one, holding it up to Hani. “My lord, here’s one you haven’t opened.”

  “I’m afraid to look,” said Hani with a reluctant twitch of the lips. He recognized Mery-ra’s writing the moment he began to unfold the sheet, and his heart beat faster, lurching between eagerness and dread. He scanned a few lines and saw that all was well with the family, and he began to relax. “Here’s something strange. Father says the king has changed his birth name and all the rest except his throne name, Nefer-khepru-ra.”

  “What?” cried the secretary.

  “He’s no longer Amen-hotep but Akh-en-aten. ‘Effective for the Aten.’ He’s a busy fellow all right.” Hani reproached himself for speaking sarcastically. It wouldn’t do for a man in his position to become critical of the Living Haru, however much resolution such fidelity required. “Father says a lot of courtiers are doing it, too—jettisoning all references to Amen-Ra. Even the vizier Tutu is now Nakht-pa-aten.”

  Maya crawled to his feet and straightened his kilt. “Are we supposed to do the same, my lord? You and I both have names dedicated to the Hidden One.”

  “The king can’t expect everyone in the kingdom to change his name. It’s just a style of emulation; you know how courtiers are.” Yet Hani couldn’t deny that he found something sinister in such a toadying fashion. It seemed altogether different from wearing earrings. An uneasy prickling started between his shoulder blades. This was exactly the sort of laughably petty persecution of the Hidden One that Amen-em-hut had been predicting for more than a year. And Hani had made light of it.

  He shook himself out of his malaise with effort. “I’m going to talk to Rib-addi and tell him he needs to get back to his capital while he can. If he can.”

  The old king was finishing his late breakfast when Hani was admitted to his presence. As Hani reported the approach of troops, Rib-addi’s face grew hopeful, only to melt back into gloom with the news of the loss of Ullaza. “He’s going to take Amurru in the end. Mark my words. No one will stand by me. No one will help me. I’m like some cornered animal with the hunters closing in.”

  “Like a bird in a snare,” Hani agreed sadly. “What you must do right now is return to your capital, my lord. Consider the north lost and just get back to safety. Let Lord Yanakh-amu’s troops worry about Ullaza and Simurru.”

  “Wouldn’t you have thought my brother would have defended Ullaza?” Rib-addi heaved a cynical sigh that seemed to empty his thin chest. “Oh, to be young again so that I myself might fight in my defense. Mount the walls, eh, Hani? Ride into battle, swinging a sword. But it’s too late. That’s what age does to you. There’s nothing left of me but my good intentions.” He sighed again. “It’s too late.”

  Hani left the royal bedchamber as Rib-addi called for his valet and gave orders to prepare his departure. The emissary decided to go the long way back to his quarters and mounted the wall of the citadel—only to be met by the unnerving sight of an army encamped at the base of the glacis, spread out among the buildings of the unfortified port and even on the opposite bank of the narrow commercial harbor. May Ammit devour his soul, he thought, grinding his teeth. Aziru didn’t even wait to hear back from me.

  Hani descended with impatient footsteps to the gate of the citadel, where he ordered the soldiers on guard to let him out. Taking up the herald’s staff, he marched down the sloping road and up to the boundary of the hapiru camp. No one knows where I’ve gone, he thought, uneasy. If they detain me, Maya won’t even know where to look for me. But anger at Aziru fortified his resolve.

  This time, he was stopped immediately by two rough-looking youths in ragtag clothing. After presenting his staff and declaring that he came with news expected by their leader, the guards took him to Aziru’s scarlet tent. Aziru himself came to the door flap to admit him. The hapir leader, alone this time, was dressed in a sh
ort military tunic and a gleaming corselet of scales, a fine figure of a man in the flower of his age, his color high from the heat.

  He smiled at Hani and welcomed him into the tent, dark eyes sarcastic despite the pleasant expression of the mouth. “Well, you did come back after all. I had given up, Hani.”

  “I told you, my lord, that it would be some days. Urusalim is far away, even for a mounted courier.”

  “And have you received an answer from Yanakh-amu?”

  “We offer you nothing, my lord. Troops are coming to discourage you from this siege.”

  Aziru’s mouth hardened. “How unfriendly.”

  “Perhaps things might have gone otherwise had your forces not seized Ullaza, Lord Aziru. That seems to have been an act of bad faith.” Hani fixed him with a stare but kept a genial smile upon his lips.

  Aziru shrugged, his brows contracted with dissatisfaction. He held Hani’s eyes for a space of time, as if considering, then said in a mellower voice, “I suppose that ends our conversation for now. The next time we speak, it will be from a position of greater strength on my side, however. You might remind your masters of that. They’ve miscalculated badly.”

  “I’ll certainly transmit your words, my lord.” Hani bowed, keeping his face a bland smiling mask. “I trust you will grant my party and King Rib-addi safe passage back to Kebni.”

  “By all means.” Aziru was grinning now. “It will be a pleasure to be rid of you.”

  Hani was less out of sorts with Aziru than with his own superiors. In a dark frame of mind, he trudged back up to the gate of Simurru and, having deposited his staff, made his way to his quarters. Maya was putting away the letters into their wicker chest. He looked up as Hani entered.

  “Good,” Hani said. “You read my thoughts. Pack up quickly, my friend. We’re leaving for Kebni.”

  ⸎

  As far as Hani was concerned, his mission in Kharu was over. He had done what he could to prevent an open outbreak of war, but his government had not aided him at all. He wondered pessimistically whether peace was what the king wanted, in fact, or if all the fine words were just for effect. Effective for the Aten. The encroachment of Kheta upon Nuhasshe would change everything, but for the moment, he was on his way home.

  Rib-addi bade him a disabused farewell. “You tried, friend Hani,” he said wearily. “Aziru is closing in on me—like a bird in a snare, eh, as you put it so well. Tell them that. Tell them that.” He took Hani’s hand and clapped him on the back with a feeble pat. “If I die for my loyalty, so be it.”

  Hani was washed with a hot wave of shame for his own government, which had repaid so badly the old man’s fidelity. “Your conscience will be clear when Lord Djehuty examines your soul, my lord. Others will answer for their own behavior.”

  “Troops are on their way, aren’t they?”

  “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  ⸎

  Sure enough, the very next evening, the diplomatic party, sailing south from Kebni, was harboring at Siduna for the night when Hani ran into his old friend Pa-khuru in the courtyard of the palace. His sunburned young face brightened at the sight of Hani. “My lord! Our paths cross again.”

  “Pa-khuru. Good to see you once more. Are you with the troops from Urusalim?”

  “I am, my lord. In fact”—he struggled to conceal the look of pride that broke across his face—“I’m in charge of the garrison destined for Simurru.”

  “Congratulations, Commandant.” Hani laughed in sincere delight. Then he grew suddenly somber, remembering what Pa-khuru was going to be facing. “You’ll have to fight your way past Ullaza, I suppose.”

  “We’re ready for that, my lord,” the young officer assured him confidently. “Those undisciplined brigands don’t have a chance against us.”

  “May that be so. May Montu charge into battle at your head and bring you home safe.”

  “Thank you, Lord Hani. A safe trip to you and your party as well.”

  There’s the sort of man who should be serving up here as a commissioner, not those self-interested wretches who give Kemet a bad name, Hani thought as he made his way to his room, still buoyed by the encounter with the enthusiastic young officer.

  Maya was organizing their writing materials for the evening’s dictation when Hani entered. The youth looked up, wreathed in good cheer.

  He’s glad to be heading home, and so am I. “We’ll be back well before the Inundation, I think,” Hani said. “It shouldn’t be that hard to get upriver to Waset.” He glanced mischievously at his secretary. “I’m sure Sat-hut-haru will be happy to see you.”

  Maya blushed, and an embarrassed grin split his face. “You, too, my lord,” he stammered. “Mostly you. All your family will be.”

  “Ah, but she’ll be especially happy to see you, my friend.”

  Maya looked suddenly anxious, his brown eyes fixed on Hani’s in something close to dread. “Lord Hani, I hope you don’t find... that is, it isn’t out of place for me to... I mean, if you would prefer me not to...”

  Hani threw back his head and laughed. “Maya, neither of you needs my permission to get married. Ask her. If she says yes, we’ll do everything we can to make it work for the two of you.”

  Maya hung his head, unsuccessfully trying to conceal the vast smile of relief that dawned upon his face. “I’m conscious of all the reasons you might not want it. You’re so far above me socially and...”

  “And so far above you?” Hani finished with a smile, knowing Maya would get the joke and would understand that it wasn’t meant unkindly. They both laughed, the little secretary almost giddy with relief. And despite the mounting misgivings with which Hani drew nearer to the Black Land, Maya seemed to pass the rest of the journey in euphoria.

  ⸎

  Hani stopped in Men-nefer, hoping to see his brother, who turned out to be absent from the city. The capital of the Lower Kingdom was nearly a city of ghosts. All of the archives and government offices had been moved to the new city of Akhet-aten, leaving behind a vast complex of empty buildings and whole neighborhoods of abandoned houses that mere months before had domiciled government workers. Only the temple of Ptah and the quarter inhabited by his priests still showed signs of life. It was like a blow to the stomach that left Hani sickened and breathless—a vision of a Black Land abandoned by prosperity and happiness.

  They sailed past the site of the new capital at one point, but Hani didn’t want to stop. From the deck of the boat, he watched the teeming work crews hauling freshly delivered stones from the embarcadero, swarming over vast but unidentified scaffolding-hung edifices in the distance. Looming over the low jumble of houses were the walls of structures that could only be temples. It all looked very raw and unfinished—dry and yellow and dusty. The close embrace of high russet cliffs at the city’s back was a reminder of how far into the desert it lay. Only on the west bank did any green show along the River’s edge. Akhet-aten would be a hungry town. This was indeed a place claimed by no god. It was—dare he say it even to himself?—a place where Chaos boiled close to the surface.

  Hani felt something like a chill pass over him as the Horizon of the Aten slipped by them. Everything is changing.

  The docks of Waset looked lively enough but seemed somehow quieter than usual. Where was the chanting of sailors hauling in rhythm? Where were the lively shouting in the marketplace, the song of laundrymen beating clothes along the riverbank, and the happy screaming of schoolboys chasing one another down the street? It was early afternoon toward the end of the month of Tekh, still hot enough for a siesta. Perhaps everyone was asleep within doors. In the distance, the mighty, undulating wall of the Ipet-isut shimmered, transparent-looking, in the sun.

  Hani sent a messenger to alert his servants to his arrival, and before long, one of the gardeners appeared, leading a pack donkey that ambled dozily through the dusty, empty street. “Welcome back, master,” the servant greeted Hani. Along with happiness at seeing the master of the house returned, there was somethin
g troubled in his manner.

  “Is everything all right, Iuty?” Hani asked, trying not to look too anxious, while the man loaded his and Maya’s baggage.

  “Oh, aye, my lord. Good to have you back an’ all. Tonight’s the Festival of Drunkenness starting.”

  “I hope Lady Nub-nefer gave you tomorrow off. Go out and have a good time,” Hani said.

  Maya, who was trundling alongside in silence, brightened. “Sat-hut-haru will be celebrating her patron goddess, I guess. Do you think she and I might go out for a while together, Lord Hani?”

  Iuty kept his eyes furtively on the ground, his uneasy looks making Hani’s skin creep with premonition. “I suppose so,” Hani said vaguely to Maya, continuing to fix the gardener with a probing stare. “What is it, man?”

  “It’s just that... nobody’s sure if there’ll be a festival, Lord Hani. Because, well, you know, the Lady Hut-haru isn’t so popular right now.”

  Hani said nothing, too disturbed to entrust his thoughts to words. But Maya cried, “What do you mean, not popular? Everybody loves this festival. It’s a chance to relax and have some fun.”

  Iuty had worked for Hani’s family for years and enjoyed an easygoing relationship with his employer. But now he nearly cringed in his reluctance to speak out. “Better ask the lady of the house, my lord. Or Lord Amen-em-hut.”

  They’d reached the gate of Hani’s house, beloved haven from the weariness and danger of his travels. He saw carved above the gate his name: Amen-hotep called Hani, son of Mery-ra. Military Scribe. Emissary Abroad of the King. It was his home. It belonged to him, whereas once it had been his father’s. And there, below the legend, was the next generation—instead of the gatekeeper, Pa-kiki and the girls stood clustered in the gateway.

  “Here they are!” cried Neferet joyously. “Here they are, everybody. Papa!”

  She ran out ahead of the others and threw her arms around Hani, who lifted her up and swung her around, laughing. “My duckling!”